


Intention to Kill

by Koiame



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Dark Comedy, Drama, M/M, Romance, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koiame/pseuds/Koiame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, pacifists are being assassinated by an unknown entity.  The Preventers are charged with solving the case.  What's Duo up to during all this?  Well, let's just say he's keeping busy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Intention to Kill](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/54664) by Koiame. 



> Eleven years ago, I started work on my first Gundam Wing fan fiction. Although I had abandoned it until recently due to life circumstances, and Harry Potter, the nostalgia I have for the series inspired me to rewrite “Intention to Kill” so that it is more realistic and better thought out. By doing this, I hope to complete it in a meaningful way. I know a lot of interest for the GW fandom has waned over the past decade; however I will always love it. I hope my contribution can help rekindle others' passion.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has ever read, commented on, followed, or added this story to your favorites on fanfiction(dot)net, I am deeply grateful. The feeling of approval I get from it is addictive and wonderful. I hope that this updated version provides you with the same level of satisfaction you all have given me. Doumo!
> 
> Content Warning: This story contains explicit content, including sex, violence, murder, self-injury, non-consensual sex, triggers, vulgar and abusive language, angst/tragedy, etc.
> 
> Pairings: 1x2, 3x4, and others.
> 
> Update Schedule: Every two weeks, unless noted otherwise.

The lingering smell of blood and battle clung to his hair like the finest perfume. Duo breathed in deeply, imagining what it’d feel like to take a day off. There’d be parades… and who knows, maybe a fucking global holiday would mark the brief lull in bloodshed and massacre. Not the bullshit kind that everyone simply observed, but one where people actually got paid leave. Death’s Day was a good name for it, or just D Day for short. He snorted. Or hey, it’s Duo Day! Laughing left a bitter taste in his mouth and a hollow ringing in his ears. Fucking explosives, he shook his head. The cheap mattress Milner, the landlord, provided free of charge whined at every little movement - at first he’d questioned the stains, but once you got past the stench it was sort of comfy. Lying beside him on a flattened pillow was last night’s adopted semi-auto and a pack of cigarettes. Disoriented, the seventeen year old blinked at his inanimate companions.

“I know why you’re here,” he caressed the machine gun with bloodstained fingertips, “but cigs, too?”

He sat up, tossed the smokes away, and rubbed his face. The soot and grease smudged defiantly. Yawning, his legs swung over the side. He let them dangle a while, enjoying the sense of detachment from the floor below, until the feeling overwhelmed him. He shot straight up; staggered and stumbled over things before finding balance against a friendly wall. Then, bingo! A lamp flickered on. Duo’s cramped studio apartment hummed a discordant tune of weapons, clothes, and metal parts everywhere. He jaunted into the tiny kitchen; its drawers pulled out and cupboards empty. With a tug of the refrigerator handle, he wrenched the thing clear off. A rusty screw tinged mutely on the linoleum before it rolled under the stove.

"Classic!" He cackled. The plastic bar was banished to the counter with a clatter. His hands pried the door open at its seams to reveal an inside both dark and cool. Well, look at that! He smirked and weighed his limited options. A carton of orange juice was chosen. Its white screw top was MIA and the expiration date of February 3rd meant nothing. Squinting, he peered into the container and sniffed at its contents. A sour odor filled his nostrils, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. OJ was kind of sour, anyways. He sauntered over to the couch and flicked on the pawnshop television set to let its babble occupy the silence. 

The Sun rose between the gaps of his plastic blinds. Early morning cartoons numbed the part of him that gave a damn. He sucked the salt off a dry pretzel he’d excavated from the couch cushions’ depths. This was the little slice of heaven they’d fought for. A fire started to bubble inside his belly. He took the first swig of his beverage and immediately spit it back. Tongue out, the brunet rushed for the sink.

"Tastes like shit…" Maxwell shut the water off and used a dishrag to wipe his mouth, “or olives?”

“This is a special news report.” The local news cut in on the TV. He turned in time to watch a graying, orange man shuffle papers before focusing on the camera. “Last night in Washington, D.C., an explosion at a downtown restaurant killed six and sent dozens more to the hospital. Mr. Hayfield, a Foreign Affair Minister and pacifist, is among the dead. This incident is the latest in a string of assassinations over the past four months that have shaken the globe and threatened peace. The Preventer agency has repeated assurances to the public that they are actively investigating these attacks, however no information has been released yet indicating a motive or who is responsible. When asked for a comment earlier this week, the acting ESUN President, Miss Dorothy Catalonia, pledged the full support of her administration to-"

The television blinked off. Thumb resting on the power button, Duo let the remote slip from his grasp. He shut his weary eyes and tried to will away the aching behind them.

“Even Dorothy, huh? Guess everyone just wants in on the action. Killing and dying… that’s all any of us have.” Duo chuckled; dullness in his unfocused gaze. Blinking it away, he took a deep breath and binned the OJ. After washing his face, he grabbed a jacket, slipped on boots, and left without bothering to lock up. Worry about someone robbing the place? Yeah, right. He smirked at his daydreams.

“Breakfast in the morning,” the chestnut-haired terrorist sang, flittering down the hall, braid tapping against his legs, “good ole fashion wake-up-and-eat! We’ve got what you’re cravin’, so come an’ taste our meat!”


	2. Chapter 2

Heero smirked at his recollection of a meeting 186 days prior when Harold Small had met Director Une for the first time. As newly appointed Facilities & Procurement Manager, he would not fund construction of a secure space in Preventer HQ for only her top agents to gather. There was the budget to think about after all, and the impracticality of its location on the fourth floor, the man had argued. He could not see ESUN approving such frivolous spending of taxpayer money. After receiving a five minute speech on the virtue of acquiescence, and nearly being promoted to head penguin shit collector in Antarctica, the bureaucrat had caved. Completed a month later and under budget, the Lady had the high-tech 480 square foot ‘box’ she had desired.

The floor was made of durable rubber carpeting over solid steel that completely encased the room. Stretched across its length was an ovular black table with comfortably functional chairs. The perfect soldier opted to stand by its only door as he waited for the meeting at 1400 hours. His partner Trowa quietly entered and settled into a chair facing the exit. His black jacket’s left sleeve was torn by barbed wire at the elbow from their hasty extraction six hours earlier. 

“Any idea why we’re here?”

“No.”

Trowa nodded and shut his bleary eyes. Ten minutes elapsed until the electronic lock clicked open again and admitted Quatre; his dilated pupils jumped from one boy to the other as he, trembling noticeably, found a seat and stared down at his intertwined fingers. 

“Quatre?”

Wufei and Une stormed inside; the latter stalking to the head of the table and rounding on all four with mounting agitation.

“What’s the situation?” Heero uncrossed his arms and stood straighter.

“Covert acts of sabotage and terrorism, Agent Yuy. Dozens of prominent figures have been assassinated by an unknown entity over the past four months. Although the extensive investigation conducted by Agent Winner failed to provide a motive or suspect,” her eyes lashed into Quatre, “a secondary review of the evidence by Wufei yielded our first actionable lead. I thought you would want to see this right away.” 

Wufei stared at the floor with his fists balled up. The Director flicked on the projection screen and behind her a video file queued up. Quatre wrung his hands and kept his head down.

“This cell phone video was recovered from the wreckage of last night’s attack in D.C.” She switched the lights off and hit play. Happy, inebriated faces of middle age women enjoying their cocktails dominated the picture; however in the background on the right was Minister Hayfield, dining at an identical white linen table. Although the left side of the table was obscured, there were at least two bodyguards. Heero frowned. If the assassin had made the mistake of being caught on camera, then the others should have no trouble following up on the lead themselves.

“Pay attention to the reflection.” Une indicated with a laser pointer.

Onscreen, random heads and torsos danced across a cluster of hung decorative mirrors in the bustle of dinner service. Then there he was, at the 2:14.06 frame; Maxwell’s grinning face flashed over the reflective surface before disappearing. Afterwards, errant gunfire erupted and shrill screams could be heard. A loud explosion followed up the chaos, abruptly cutting the video feed out.

“Officially, Duo Maxwell is to be regarded as a person of interest until we may determine the nature of his involvement in this case. We have orders to locate and bring him in for questioning. It seems his status as a former Gundam pilot has afforded him some leniency with the senile old fools on the oversight committee. No one wants to believe one of their heroes has turned into the enemy. But personally, I don’t care if you dispose of 02 like a rabid dog. Priority number one is to prevent these assassinations from being carried out, no matter what the cost. If any of you are unable to accept this mission, now is your chance to withdraw.” 

In the dim light, Agent Winner shook his head in a tearstained denial of reality’s cruelty. Not Duo. He knew how precious life was. But before he could voice his protest, the boy on his right spoke.

“Mission accepted.” 

“H-Heero?!” Quatre whimpered as a twisting sensation tore his heart out.

The perfect soldier sat down, activated the holographic interface, and pulled up their shared drive. Trowa and Wufei soon joined him in scanning the floating ghostly images. 

“Where do we begin?”

“We should look at past events to predict future targets.”

Une nodded her approval and headed for the door. On her way, she stopped behind Quatre and whispered audibly, “Which is more important; your friend or his victims? You have a job to do, Agent Winner.”

“Quatre,” Trowa called to him after she left, “we need your help.”

“As his friends, it is our duty to stop Maxwell if he is responsible for these attacks.” Wufei added. 

The Arabian boy felt it then; the turmoil their steeled minds kept at bay. It wasn’t fair to have to hunt down the only other person who understood what they had been through. But that was also why they had to be the ones who brought him home. That was their responsibility. “I understand. But if Duo is involved, there has to be a reason. I can’t believe that, after all we’ve been through,” he sunk in his seat, “everything we lost…”

“We’ll ask him ourselves,” Trowa held his tearful gaze, willing every bit of comfort he could muster to reach Quatre, “but first we need to find him.”

“Locating Maxwell is simple.” Wufei pulled up traffic camera footage. “Follow the path of death and destruction. He will be at the end.” 

Heero nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early chapter post because you're awesome for reading this...

Battered rows of government housing breezed by as his feet shuffled over torn pavement. Most of Old Brooklyn had been leveled during the last war. Countless identical shit holes, hastily slapped together with prefabricated parts, took their place. Not that he cared about history much, but the aged buildings had felt right. Even with people inside, the new homes were empty souls. Yep, Earth in general was a pretty miserable place. Duo laughed heartily.

After ten minutes of zigzagging through alleyways and moving with crowds to soothe his healthy paranoia, he came upon a rundown topless bar. A lit neon sign on the side of the building welcomed his early-morning patronage with a promise of half priced lap dances and a working toilet. 

“Come for the tits, stay for the shits.” He philosophized before he stepped through the squeaky doors. Mismatched furniture rescued from curbsides here and there greeted him with numerous torn-upholstery smiles. Upon closer inspection, some of the poor things had their fair share of bullet holes and scorch marks. Shrugging off the strange feeling of camaraderie he started to feel for them, the assassin focused on the people instead. Across the room, drunken laborers were doing their best to keep the party going strong. Loud table beating and laughter cleared through the establishment following dirty jokes at the saggy stripper’s expense. The seventeen year old chuckled at what Wufei would think.

“We’re closing in an hour.” The barkeep downed a shot of a red liquid from a dingy glass.

“No problem, pops!” He chimed and picked out a seat with a good view. “Just gimme your best hangover cure with a half dozen shots of whatever you’re pouring into those tiny little glasses and I’ll be on my merry way.”

The old man grumbled as he tottered off to fill the order. A loud whistle caught Duo’s attention. One of the drunken men was eyeing him excitedly. So much for a peaceful morning, the young assassin sighed. Still, he had committed himself to two goals for this particular outing; the first was to fill his stomach with something edible and the second was to keep a low profile. That in mind, he beamed at the man and waved languorously back. Ignoring the laughter and attention of the others, Duo focused instead on the shots lining up in front of him like obedient little soldiers. Three downed and three in waiting, food soon arrived. It was kinda greenish, or no… maybe sorta brownish? The dismayed pilot couldn’t decide with a tall shadow over him. Looking up, he eyed the six foot three inch problem. Standing at his table was a stocky blond sporting the same dark blue jumpsuit and crew cut as the others. Judging from his smug attitude, Duo guessed he wasn’t there to ask for an autograph.

“You work here?” The man asked.

He took another shot. “Nope.”

“Well, my buddy Leroy over there,” he gestured, beer still in hand, “right there, thinks you’re a cute little piece. Now I told him, even if you look something to grab onto, he’d definitely find something extra there.” His eyes trailed down the brunet’s body.

Duo laughed from the bottom of his heart where it had begun to ache. "Never knew I was such an irresistible guy." What could he say? Assholes just seemed to gravitate towards him. He snickered darkly as he felt the warm buzz of liquor step on his restraint.

“Hey, I was right.” The man called over, pleased. “You’re a queer, Lee!”

“Really?” Duo muttered; a smirk withering at the corners of his mouth. “Suppose it always comes back to that, huh.”

“Fuck you, Aryl!” Across the room, his cobalt blue eyes darted to Lee, the same guy who waved at him earlier, as he pounded his fists on the table in a drunken fury.

“Not me, but maybe this guy?!” Aryl howled and clapped his hand on Duo’s shoulder. “An’ you owe me a beer.”

A bowl of tepid, ambiguous goop shattered when it made contact with blonde’s meaty mug, and after some quick maneuvering the Shinigami used an arm lock to bend the moron over and slam him face down onto the table.

“You mean like this?” Duo leaned against his back, one arm pressing on the nape of Aryl’s neck as he used the other to down the remaining shots. “I’ve never done it, so excuse me if I don’t know how to be gentle.”

"The fuck?" 

“Aryl!”

“I’m really starting to think, maybe it’s me.” Duo sighed. One of the workers charged him head-on with a work knife, but was fended off with a solid kick to the temple. “Well, better make peace with your maker. You’ve all got an appointment to meet him.” 

“Get this faggit off!”

Nine minutes later, the brunet young man was strolling down the street with a handle of rum in one fist, an armchair slung awkwardly over the opposite shoulder, and a bruise beginning to show under his left eye. The air was always fresher, and his mind a little clearer, after some light exercise. A few blocks away, the sounds of sirens wailed from the direction he came. Duo hummed the tune of a shampoo commercial he had heard the other day. It was shaping up to be a long one. No sense letting his good mood go to waste. He set the furniture down a moment, whipped out his phone, and checked his messages. 

One missed. 

“Well alright,” he read, “another busy night.” All that was left to do was visit a grocery store for some grub and then drop off his new buddy before going out to play.


	4. Chapter 4

Visiting the supermarket in an intoxicated state, Duo was baffled as to why people where freakin’ out. _So_ he was covered in patches of blood here and there; a pint or two was nothin’. It wasn’t even his… But they’d laid on him nervous stares and told him to kindly get the fuck out. Talk about customer service. And okay, so he’d brought his own bottle in. It’s not like it was _their_ liquor and leaving it outside would be plain stupid. Any hobo or street rat worth their name’d snag it in a heartbeat.

No, he’d shaken his heavy head, pushing the cart he’d placed the armchair and rum bottle around the store, keeping his belongings with him was sound strategy. And when local law enforcement showed up at some point to say ‘hey’ and check out the chair, well, the braided assassin politely advised that it wasn’t for sale. After that, he had to put the officers down for a nap when they became disrespectful. 

“This’s _my_ chair…” He cuddled one wing of the shabby back and stared down at the unconscious men with a pouty lip. “F’ckers. I rescued it. Ya all jus’ think ya can… can take whatever ya wan’ an’… an’ not…” Sucking back tears, his fingernails made crescent shaped marks in the upholstery. He was the only conscious being in the frozen food aisle.

“Boys don’ cry.” Duo repeated until his eyes dried.

After ringing his own groceries up, muttering all the while about the place being understaffed, he left. Duo laughed himself to tears as the shopping cart thumped over the seams of the sidewalk. It felt like pounding stale, chewy jello against pavement as he ran. Skirting alleys and inhabiting fading shadows, he made it home without further incident.

“Mis-si-O-ne a'complish'd!” He beamed after finally managing the laden cart through his doorway and into the scrappy apartment. Yeah, he deserved half credit at least for achieving one of his goals, thought the brunet. The one about keeping a low profile could be worked on later.

The uncooked instant noodles he’d picked up were crunchy, but no less satisfying with the flavor packet for seasoning. He hadn’t felt like cooking and unfortunately there was no one waiting for him when he got home to do it. The brunet sighed and picked a piece of dry food out of his teeth. On the shoddy table in front of him, Duo’s phone pinged - another text from work. His heart fluttered as he read the details.

“Well look at that! There’s gonna be a big, fancy party tonight… and me without a dress.” A mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes. 

____________________________________________________

Six hours later, he ditched a second stolen vehicle at an abandoned parking lot in a small town twenty minutes outside of Paris. He was running late; some shuttle trouble moved the timetable back. This meant that he would miss out on scouting the place himself, but the maps, schematics, and guest list provided would help compensate. Duo shouldered a large, hunter green duffle bag and closed the trunk quietly. His head was pounding and the generous amounts of water he drank on the way hadn’t helped as much as he would have liked. 

The surrounding area was wooded and remote; hundreds of acres set aside as protected land. He figured it would be a half hour jog through the forest, forty-five minutes tops, before he reached the well guarded walls of the mansion.

“Can’t believe I stole a chair.” He groaned and tucked his braid down the back of his black long-sleeved shirt.

An hour later, the former pilot cursed his rotten luck as he bandaged his right leg where a bear trap had clamped down. ‘Fucking poachers! Tro’d make ‘em lion chow,’ he thought tersely. At least it wasn’t serious enough to put him out of commission. The operation could continue, albeit much less comfortably.

The perimeter of the sprawling estate was protected by roving patrols and infrared cameras, all coordinated from a guardhouse situated at the front entrance. It was a pretty basic setup designed to maximize coverage without becoming an eyesore to guests. Duo shook his head. It was almost insulting. Didn’t they know Shinigami was coming to pay a visit?

Climbing and hopping between trees with a seventy-four pound bag in the darkness was harrowing, he’d admit, but once his left foot hit the top of the wall it was smooth sailing. The vacant third-floor balcony on the west end was the perfect entry point. He swung his cumbersome bag around a few times and used its inertia to launch himself at the platform. The contents clattered dully against themselves and the wrought iron gate. Not the most silent of entries, but with the music and noises coming from inside it would surely go unnoticed.

A snip here, a bypass there, and he was through the door without tripping anything. After checking for motion and infrared sensors, Duo crept into the dark bedroom and locked up behind him. He pulled a .45 caliber out from a holster from his back and smirked. The chestnut-haired American started using a holster instead of just tucking it haphazardly into his waistband after a particularly awkward confrontation with ‘Fei. He chuckled ruefully at the memory and felt the absence of his friends. Avoiding them wasn’t easy, but better to have old friends than new enemies.

The noise from the party on the first floor grew louder as he infiltrated deeper into the mansion’s rose-colored carpeted halls littered with cherry wood antiques and haughty landscapes of Earth’s majesty. To Duo’s mind, none of it measured up to the beauty of outer space. A sad tugging feeling pulled at the corner of his heart that he tried desperately to ignore. There was the mission to think about. 

So, he set about sticking to the plan. Charges were set as he checked the third floor and encountered no one except a couple doing the deed; making the beast with two backs; a bit of the ole in and out. After running out of euphemisms, the brunet contented to sneak in, steal the man’s clothes, and exit with only the slightest tinge of red kissing his cheeks.

Peeling off his own garb in another bedroom, this one blessedly unoccupied, he noticed blood soaking through the bandage of his leg and hissed. Luckily the suit he borrowed was also black, so blood stains wouldn’t show up readily and blow his cover. He pulled them on, rolled up the pant legs and sleeves as neatly as he could to hide the extra length, and stowed his braid away again. Pilfered sunglasses were the final touch that would ensure he wouldn’t be easily recognized. With his clothes stuffed in his bag, he returned to exploring the second floor where the music was loud and clear. 

There was a large open area in the center of the level that framed the dignified revelry taking place in the grand ballroom on the first. Duo smirked, satisfied that the blueprints he had were correct. He slinked around the security, placing more charges. A couple of guards had to be knocked out and hidden, but the assassin made quick work of it. Cameras were dodged and their viewing angles noted. 

After finding the speaker system and rewiring a few things for fun, he casually descended the service stairs to join the party. It was insanely boring how little security there was, but the important thing was to account for all targets. Five of them were spotted, but as he searched the crowd for the other three a shiver ran down his back. Someone was watching.

His violet eyes calmly surveyed the area from a dark corner near the kitchens. No one. It was unsettling. Call it paranoia, but the same feeling had saved his ass more times than he cared to remember. His thumb subtly brushed the gun under his suit jacket. Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, he snaked through until he found the basement door. All the while, alarms were screaming inside his head. Danger was circling in on him. 

Fighting back those fears, he opened the breaker box and stuck enough C4 inside to give even Gundams a nasty little paper cut. After the detonator was synced with his remote, he scuttled up the stairs and cautiously reentered the kitchens. He was counting on there being too many people hurrying around to notice a homicidal teen sneaking through in a too-big suit with a duffle under his arm. Yeah, real subtle. The nagging fear scolded him for not planning this through. He’d have to get the show on the road or risk get snared in a trap he couldn’t see coming. His leg throbbed a reminder of carelessness’ cost.

As he stepped out, a hollow peace filled Duo. There was the resolve he needed; ready to do what was unavoidable, whatever the cost. “For the colonies,” his lips twisted into a maniacal grin. The music stopped with the press of a button on his universal remote. Everything quiet, except for curious murmurings and calls to turn it back on, then the recording began to play.

“Well, _excuse me_ for ruining your good time!” Duo’s prerecorded voice bellowed through the speakers. “But I’ve got business with a few of you, so the rest should just stay out of my way and try not to die.” 

Loud, raucous music filled the mansion after that pronouncement. People screamed and looked around in panic as the leering assassin crossed the first target off with a pop. He detonated the first round of explosions on the third floor - enough to cause confusion but not to bring the place down yet. As the high-class rats scattered, he picked the next three off without problem. After that, things began to unravel.

Pressing against the back of his head, a gun was cocked and Duo froze. Even over the loud music and a drumming ache in his skull, he’d know the sound. He’d let his guard down enough for someone to sneak up close. The former pilot spun around to face his death and look it square in the eye.

“Put it down, 02. Slowly.” Heero demanded. 

Duo laughed at the cruel bitch that was fate. But somehow, it made sense. He was sure the preventer had followed his every move since he’d arrived. 

“How’s it going, buddy? Long time no see.” Under the withering gaze of the perfect soldier, failure tasted bittersweet.


	5. Chapter 5

“On the ground, now, or I’ll shoot.” His eyes were colder than Duo remembered. 

_All business then, Heero? Some things never change…_

Before he had left for L2 to help out Hilde with the yard, they had almost been, dare he say, friendly towards one another? But a year’s a long time in this day and age, he reckoned. Perhaps that was enough to become strangers again. Enemies, even. Or maybe it was just the circumstance. The man always did have a soft spot for pacifists. By any account, it didn’t matter.

The assassin sighed, and shook his head. With the press of a button, large explosions violently ripped through the building, causing it to shudder. The lights cut out, casting them into darkness. 

He heard the shot and felt the pain, but there was no time to think on it. Duo charged through a set of glass doors, out into the sculpted gardens that stretched resplendently to the back wall. A small, defiant sliver of moonlight lent his surroundings a sickly glow. 

Lucky for the primed assassin, he’d brought his night vision glasses to aid his escape. As soon as he was approximately ten yards away, the god of death detonated all remaining charges. The blasts caused a sudden change in air pressure, catapulting the boy forward only to pull him right back. 

When he tried to get up, he noticed that Heero’s bullet had shattered his left collarbone. To make matters worse, the persistent bastard who shot him was quickly peeling himself off the ground only eight feet behind him. Curses tumbled out of his mouth, but the ringing in his ears dampened all sound. 

The seventeen year old fugitive scrambled to his feet. Unable to shoulder the burden of his duffel any longer, he left it behind. The wall was a terrible bitch to scale, but the stray bullets chipping up dirt at his heels urged him forward. Duo growled in agony as he used a tree to springboard off of and caught the barbed wire on top. His feet slipped against the smooth surface, but he managed somehow. He knew if he looked down there would be blood on the wall from his weeping leg wound. No clean getaway this time; not that there could be with Heero in pursuit.

It wasn’t the exhilarated triumph of overcoming the barrier that made his heart suddenly flutter when he hit the grass. Sprinting to the tree line, Duo took an inventory of his injuries; right leg, left collar, and right hand. That wasn’t too bad, he simpered. But then again, there was that glass door he’d charged through… oh, and the shockwaves of the explosion.

To his horror, he realized that there was a lot about his condition that he didn’t know. How many lacerations he had acquired in his hasty escape? He could have wicked bruises all over, and the possibility of internal bleeding was too unsettling to ruminate over. No, thinking was a nuisance. It only ever got him into trouble.

Running was what made it all bearable. 

His legs moved by command only. There was no attachment to them, or to his body. It was his machine now. Escape was all that mattered; every fiber of his being worked toward that goal. He was veering right in hopes of finding a way back to the vehicle he’d borrowed. There’d be painkillers, bandages, and a way out. 

And then everything went to hell.

Duo went down hard, his leg finding an inconveniently placed burrow. The right lens of his glasses sustained heavy damage when he unwillingly hit the deck. He punched it out entirely and freed himself. His right ankle twisted, the best the braided assassin could manage was a frantic hobble. 

Slowing down, the fatigue set in. He noticed it; the crunching of footsteps behind him. It had to be a delusion! It was the blood loss, he plead to the darkness that had held him in its safety on so many other occasions. There was no way anyone could have tracked him through it all; not without equipment. Heero absolutely couldn’t be behind him, but he was. Glancing back, the stubborn brunet was on his six and drawing closer.

Duo greeted his former comrade with a .45 caliber aimed at center mass. 

“Hey, buddy,” he rasped out, surprised at the reedy quality in his voice, “I-I don’t wanna have your death on my conscience. So, do me a favor and walk away from this one, alright?” 

“My mission is to stop you, Duo.” Heero growled as he stalked closer, gun in hand at his side. “If you don’t surrender, one of us will die.”

_Surrender?_

The shinigami broke down into a hysterical laughter that hitched in his chest. Sure thing, he thought, just lemme toss my gun and I’ll happily go spend the rest of my life in a cage. 

_That's Heero Yuy, for you - ballsy._

But while he mocked the absurdity of the request, Duo was aware of how badly he’d fucked up his mission. Even with a loaded gun pointed straight at the Japanese pilot, he couldn’t watch him die. Not again. 

“Well, that’s just too bad.” The American shook his head, regretting it as a wave of dizziness overcame him. “I don’t feel like dying just yet, but there’s no way in hell I’m gonna surrender.”

Before Heero could make his move, a shot cracked out in the midst of the night, reverberating off the trees. Duo’s weapon trembled in his hand before it slipped through his fingers. A net of preventer agents closed in around them, flooding the area with light. Those cobalt blue eyes, wide in shock, were the first things to come into focus as his sight adjusted.

“S-So this is,” Duo chuckled, “the end?” 

The assassin dropped to his knees. A small, genuine smile of relief blossomed on his face, despite the wash of overwhelming pain. It’s over.

_Thank god._

His eyes fluttered back into his head before he fell forward. The ground was dry and littered with leaves and dry twigs. It smelled acidic and coppery. It was his own scent, he realized in a fog. 

“Stand down!” Heero bellowed. He roughly turned the dying boy’s face to the side so he could breathe and assessed the bullet wound on his back.

A surveillance fan screeched to a stop on a nearby access road. Out climbed Quatre and Wufei and they bolted towards the horrific scene.

“Duo!” The blond shouted, rushing to him.

“Get the ambulance, now!” The Japanese preventer ordered.

Duo could hear familiar voices above him. He was fading fast and a blue light was beginning to overtake him. It was nice, he decided. This was the best possible outcome. Hopefully the guys would survive what was coming their way, but he’d done what he needed to do. He wouldn’t be around to face them. Yeah. Best case scenario for everyone. 

_No regrets… right?_

Yuy’s normally stoic expression unraveled as he knelt in shock. In his shadowed eyes, Wufei registered a small flicker of anguish. The braided boy he hoisted onto his back had no pulse. 

They sprinted to the main road where an ambulance was waiting. Maxwell would provide the truth behind his betrayal. Wufei would not let him escape that responsibility. He needed to survive.

“Maxwell, you coward!” He yelled. “You don’t have the right to die!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. Reviews always appreciated. Much more to come soon!


	6. Chapter 6

“Mr. Yuy, I will need you to sign and date here.” Doctor Hurley indicated with his fat thumb near the bottom of the page. It was scarred and wrinkled, yet not calloused; so different from his. “As no living will was recorded, the power of attorney grants-”

“Heero!” Quatre struggled to break free of Trowa’s arms. The brunet’s head was nestled in the crook of his neck. “Don’t… he’s not… h-he’s not gone, Heero! I know it! I just _know_! Please…”

The terrible week had been leading up to this. The memory of its unfolding flickered through his mind. Sally Po had tried her best to keep him alive, but when that was proving futile a state of suspended animation was attempted. Ice water replaced Duo’s blood as his body was cooled to near freezing temperature. It was all they could do until they reached the nearest hospital almost an hour away. After repairing the nicked artery and patching up the hole in his lung, the blood was pumped back into his system, pushing the water out, and the body temperature gradually brought up to normal.

They’d done everything they could to save his life.

The balding, old physician checked his watch and cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the scene his patient’s friends were making. It wasn’t all that uncommon, really, for him to witness such reactions. Sometimes they would even become violent. In such cases, he could count on the orderlies to restrain and/or remove any distraught family members before harm could come to his person. This time however, the way Mr. Yuy was eyeing the pen in his hand made him nervous. 

“I understand this is a difficult time, _however_ …” His words were lost on the boy from L1 as his cobalt eyes weighed the implement in his grasp. Heavy - the weight of his friend’s life was too heavy.

“Mr. Yuy? Are you-”

Heero let the pen drop.

“H-Heero?”

“Mewosamasu, baka.” He turned his glare to Duo, lying prone in the hospital bed nearest to the barred window.

“You must understand… Mr. Maxwell’s brainwaves have shown no signs of activity in the past week.” Beneath knit brows, his grey eyes flickered to the comatose young man. “The decision is yours of course, as he listed you as next of kin, but from twenty two years of experience and with the technology available at our disposal, I can say with confidence that there is no-”

“He’s there!” Quatre cried. “It’s faint, but I can feel it! I… Trowa, _let go_.”

Released from his friend’s arms, he rushed forward and gently embraced Heero. As stifled sobs hiccupped in his chest, he begged, pled, and reassured the frozen man to keep their former comrade alive. Out of all of them, the blonde was the only one to have actively maintained their friendship with Duo after the uprising sixteen months ago. Realization of that bare and simple fact bothered Heero in a way he could not fully grasp. Beneath the faint shimmers of regret and anger, his mind readily supplied how the present scenario could have been avoided - if he had kept an eye on Duo; thought more of Quatre’s strange behavior; or stopped the god of death from running when he had the chance - then would the seventeen year old still be lying there, dead to the world?

“Yuy.” Wufei’s voice tore him from the game of ‘what if’. “Barton. Winner. There’s been a development.” He indicated them to step outside with a slight jerk of his head to the side.

Heero nodded, shrugging off his fellow agent’s hold, and followed to the hallway. 

For a moment, Quatre could only hug himself, lost in emotion - his long fingers tightly cradling cold elbows. He shivered, feeling frayed inside. But then Trowa’s hands were guiding the distraught Preventer out past the guards and a small measure of calm returned. 

“We can’t give up.” The Winner heir’s voice was thick with sorrow. “In my heart, I know he will wake up. Please, let him have that chance.”

While his face changed little, the other three could recognize the strain in Heero’s eyes and a slight slump of his shoulders as he paused at the door.

“Never mind that.” Agent Fire impatiently huffed. “We received a message from Maxwell.” 

One of Trowa’s eyebrows quirked up in askance.

“From Duo?” Quatre grasped his shoulders. “You have a message from Duo, Wufei?” 

“Show me.”

Wufei gently removed the blonde’s hands, and then led the way. “We will make use of the doctor’s lounge.”

The guards outside the room exhaled after the four left. Clearing his throat, Agent Brillo tried to catch his partner’s attention. Agent Harris shot him a warning glance over her right shoulder. No doubt the department’s gossip hound wanted to comment on the scene they had just overheard.

“You know…” He whispered. “They’re saying that kid in there was one of those Gundam pilots. And that major Yuy, Chang, Barton, and Winner…”

“Perry,” she huffs, “it’s none of our business. In fact, it’s probably our business not to know.”

“Right...” He grunted. Une really knew how to pick ‘em, he thought. At least Alicea’s not bad to look at every day. Brillo smirked. After a few minutes of inappropriate daydreaming, he pressed his luck. “So, dinner?”

She frowned. “Al and Yamato won’t be here ‘til eight.”

“So? Late dinner, then?”

“I’d-” Agent Harris paused at the sight of five men in scrubs walking down the hall, wheeling a gurney between them, and trying to blend in but not quite managing with their stocky builds. “Your six. I don’t like to look of them.”

He slowly did a quarter turn, putting his back to the hospital room. “The poster boys for steroids? Yeah, me too.”

She fingered the holster on her gun, ready for a fight if it came to that. A movement from inside the hospital room caught her off guard. “What are you doing?!” Alicea began to draw her weapon as two shots hit her center mass.

“Harris?” Her partner watched in horror as she fell. On instinct, he dropped to her side and aimed his gun in the direction of the attacker. It was then he froze. 

“Don’t-” The dart to his neck made the softest sound. “Ali…”

Seconds later, the five men casually scooped up the unconscious Preventers and carted them inside the hospital room as if nothing had happened. 

\-----

Down the hall and up a flight of stairs, the former Gundam pilots focused on a projection screen. Chang cued the video and dimmed the lights while a fuzzy recording of Duo loaded up on his tablet.

“I received an e-mail this morning from an unknown address. After scanning it for viruses, I traced the source to the L2 colony cluster.” Wufei pressed play.

“Hey guys,” their former friend’s face bore the evidence of sleep deprivation and pain, “I know I don’t deserve to ask any favors or anything, but if you’re reading this then I really fucked up and won’t be able to clean up the mess. So, I’ll tell you everything, but first you guys gotta do something for me. And no trying to decrypt the files I sent Fei without the cipher, Heero. I don’t care what happens to the world if the kid’s not…” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’ll never regret… Damn it, trace this e-mail back and you’ll get a pretty good idea where to look! With the tracking chip, I could never get close enough…” He growled and faced the camera; eyes blazing brightly. “Save him, Yuy.”

The video ended.

“Duo’s son?” Quatre grabbed the nearest chair and sat down heavily. “He never. But…” He whispered. “Oh no.”

“Winner?” Wufei asked his partner.

The empath shivered. “It doesn’t make sense. Duo…” He eyed each of his companions warily. “Well, he told me one night that h-he was not interested in, um…”

“Duo’s gay.” Trowa added helpfully.

“He found out after Hilde…” Quatre squeak. “And he never _told_ me! Even when she died! I knew something was wrong, but I thought…”

“Tracker.” Heero frowned. “He couldn’t get close enough.”

Catching on to Yuy’s meaning, Chang added, “there was nothing on the scans. Unless-”

“We missed something.” He growled and exited the room in a hurry.

“Barton.” Wufei left him to calm the distraught agent and followed the perfect soldier out. The cowards that had used Maxwell’s son against him would pay with their lives.


End file.
